Good Morning
by nonsense-verses
Summary: ...the two grew closer. Revealing similar struggles, similar battles, and similar victories, the pair that came together under such a common happenstance started to create something utterly remarkable.


The wind chimes that hung above the door of the small shop clanged together merrily, signaling that a customer had walked in. The sweet and dainty melody that the chimes randomly sang out continued their song as the customer ambled up to the front counter.

Walking in a dazed, sleep-deprived shuffle, the man wearily approached the register. He seemed as if he had seen the world one too many times, had experienced one too many jet-lags, and the cashier wondered if he would fall over before he made it over to her. His eyes were painted with red lightning bolts and were weighed down with swollen bags. The gray hood over his head hid half of his face in shadows, and his back was hunched over. He sniffled occasionally, bringing attention to his red rimmed nose and stash of tissues peeking out from his sweatshirt pocket.

His jacket that exuberantly declared the name of a small college contrasted greatly with his aura of melancholy. He leaned dejectedly against the counter, seemingy too tired to keep himself standing up straight. The man opened his mouth to speak, but immediately closed it and scrunched his eyebrows together. Giving a weak and abashed laugh, he shook his head, trying to remember why he was at the store.

The cashier had always attempted to be polite to everyone she met. She had been raised to treat everyone as if they were a garden. She was taught to shower everyone she met with kind words, to radiate warmth and kindness through her smile. Without these things, humankind will never grow. We need a kind smile as much as we need the sun shining down on us. We require kind words as much as we need the water coursing through our bodies. We need to treat each other well.

With forgiving eyes, and a smile that replaced the missing sun outside, Annabeth nodded to the man, and spoke two words: "Good morning,"

* * *

"Good morning,"

A familiar voice rang out over the singing of the wind chimes. Although she couldn't see him, Annabeth knew who it was. His voice was, by now, as familiar to her as her own. His words never failed to hold her captive no matter what he talked about. His stories were always so enrapturing; his jokes never failed to have her in stitches. He always had a different question to ask, a different story to tell, a different friend to introduce. He was an entertaining person to be around, and a very kind soul.

Without fail, ever since the pairs introduction, Percy would come by and greet Annabeth in the mornings. Most days he would just stop by and poke his head in; on other days he would wander around the cramped book store in which she worked and they would talk about whatever came to mind as he browsed. He would never buy anything, always saying he would never have time to read. It was on a day similar to this, with Percy wandering about and the two talking about everything under the sun, that he admitted he was dyslexic.

Through this, the two grew closer. Revealing similar struggles, similar battles, and similar victories, the pair that came together under such a common happenstance started to create something utterly remarkable.

* * *

It was late on a Monday when Annabeth received the news.

It was early on a cold, rainy Tuesday when a familiar shaggy mop of black hair appeared in the doorway of her small apartment. A hat was thrown on his head in an attempt to hide the tangled mess, only a few stubborn pieces kept sticking out from underneath the fabric haphazardly. His shirt was only half-tucked in, only one of his sleeves was rolled up fully, and one of his shoes was untied. The sight of her recently acquainted best friend looking so disheveled almost brought a smile to her face.

Almost.

He caught sight of the streaks that had been painted down her cheeks, the picture of grief etched into her habitually cheerful features. Her eyes swam with tear drops that magnified her irises. Tears mixed with the pools of gray, which made Percy worry that they were going to overflow soon.

He quickly made his way over to where she was sitting cross-legged on her couch. Enveloping Annabeth in a hug, he held her while she healed. There was a time when those who constantly give, and give, and give, have to receive love and compassion in return. Annabeth was one of those people. She was rich in love. Her bank account was always full, and she was never above sharing her wealth with others who needed it. Only, this time, she gave out too much. From focusing on others so much she was running on empty and was left with nothing when she needed love most.

Luckily she had one person in her life who had just as much care in his heart as her. Annabeth realized this as she was resting her head in the crook of Percy's neck, breathing in a moment of grief and change, yet still sensing the comforting familiarity. The smell of chlorine was now a constant in her life, as well as the dusty scent of old books. Realizing that Percy must have first gone to the old bookstore to look for her made her chest swell with happiness. Her shoulders relaxed as she burrowed deeper into the comfort that Percy provided.

He truly did care about her. She knew this for a fact as he kissed the top of her head and reassured her: "Good morning,"

* * *

She found him sound asleep in the far corner of the library, using a pile of paperbacks as a pillow. His hair was sticking up in odd directions, having been subjected to hiding under a hat all day before being unceremoniously thrown off during Percy's impromptu nap. His eyes were closed and still, telling her that he was not in a deep sleep, one with dreams. His hands were hidden under his makeshift blanket, his knees pulled up close to his chest under his jacket. A small trail of drool traced its way down his cheek, creating a puddle on a copy of _Great Expectations._

With a gentle touch, Annabeth attempted to tame his hair, if only a little. She smoothed out the spots that she could, and left the more stubborn pieces alone. She realized that Percy wouldn't be Percy with a subdued mane. It's the inconsistencies between all of us that makes us who we are, and without them we would just be carbon copies. Whether it be a change in skin tone, personality, hair color, or hair manageability, we are who we are because of our unique traits.

A painting is revered for its ingenuity. Its creativity. Its beauty. A copy of a famous painting is mocked and ostracized for its inconsistencies with the original. This does not make it any less beautiful, however. In the face of society, this makes it less valuable. But to others less willing to determine its flaws, they still see the beauty. If we treat everyone like this, if we recognize everyone's beauty and value by accepting the flaws that make us, _us_, imagine how the world would change.

Annabeth looked down at her friend. She knew she had to wake him. The library was closing and they both had finals to take in the morning. So she sat down next to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Gently shaking him, Percy began to stir underneath his hoodie. He brought one hand up to rub his eye and another to stretch. Only when he knocked a few books loose from their shelves did he seem to wonder where he was. Curious, he peeked open one eye.

Upon seeing Annabeth kneeling in front of him, he gave her a lazy smile that she had long since grown accustomed to. A smile immediately broke out on her face seeing his kind, tired eyes. He reached out a hand to grab one of her own, and held it loosely.

"Good morning," He mumbled.

* * *

A light patter dancing on the roof greeted Annabeth when she awoke. She let the tap-dance of the rain encase her, as she wasn't quite ready to open her eyes and start her day yet. The rain's performance was suddenly mollified when the heater kicked on. The vent directed the warm air towards where she laid as the cold rain from outside fought for a chance to get in.

Annabeth burrowed deeper under her covers as she thought of the chilly outdoor weather. During winter, the trees always make it look colder than it really was. With their dead branches reaching up to the sky, it was like thousands of fingers reaching up for warmth. Annabeth had always been able to understand why trees with no decorative leaves were written about in scary stories. They seemed like ghosts. Always yearning for what once was. The beautiful green, or reds and yellows of their youth. The trees always seemed mournful of the seasons passed.

It seemed like this was a common theme throughout the process of growing up. You always ache for the past. You never look at your own field, only the greener pastures. We crave perfection and ideal situations. No one told you this life was going to be easy, but everyone says it will be worth it. We must focus on how to make the best of what we are currently involved in. We must water and fertilize our own pastures. We must take advantage of the bareness we sometimes feel. Instead of reaching up for the never-present warmth, look up, and attempt to catch stray stars that have flown off course. We are never fully gone, just in hibernation. Your leaves will return.

Annabeth's pillow starts to stir. Lifting her head, she is surprised to see a familiar face sleeping soundly beside her. Remembering their adventure last night of watching a meteor shower beneath the trees, she remembers returning late and both of them crashing into her bed. Percy had pulled her close and surprised her by giving her a sweet peck on the lips. Her heart had fluttered, and he said two words before they both fell into a tranquil sleep:

"Good night,"


End file.
